


The Yellow Brick Road

by orphan_account



Category: RWBY
Genre: Developing Relationship, Ironwood Semblance Theory, M/M, Pining, Volume 7: Episode 2 Spoilers, Yearning, as user shannedo put it: Qrow and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 22:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21381718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ironwood had the heart, and Qrow had the brain.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood
Comments: 28
Kudos: 208





	The Yellow Brick Road

**Author's Note:**

> I repeat: Volume 7 spoilers.
> 
> Also, if anybody knows the user who suggested Ironwood's semblance was a lie-detector, could they please leave a comment advising me? I appear to have lost the post I read it in! This is written for you...
> 
> In one night!!!!!!! I had to post it whilst it was still fresh. It might get jossed but I am free!!!
> 
> This is also a love-letter to my teenage self watching Volume 3. 
> 
> "Go ahead, bang on it! ... It's empty. The tinsmith forgot to give me a heart."  
"No heart?"  
"No heart. All hollow."
> 
> But he had a heart all along! (I listened to 'If I Only Had a Heart' on repeat, if you want a soundtrack).

“Tell me, then,” Ozpin said over hot chocolate and decorative glasses, “what is your semblance, James?”

James had never told anyone. Sometimes things were better left unsaid.

“I know,” James said slowly, “when people are lying.”

Carefully, Ozpin set his mug down and the sound reverberated throughout his office dancing off gears in the ceiling.

“Well, well. I suppose we have a few things to talk about.”

*

James was meeting someone important today. Ozpin was introducing him.

It was not the only reason he wore his suit starched to each seam, with his hair coiffed, but it was undeniably a reason. He stood straight at attention. 

The man in question was a famously good Huntsman, with a reputation that preceded him. Modelled after the Grimm Reaper, he had heard, though his partner was the that had one with the silver eyes. He wasn’t sure what colour his eyes were. Only that he was one of the few currently active scythe-wielders in history and had alternately been described by posts on the CCTV as ‘graceful’, ‘sexy,’ and ‘wraith-like’.

So James had done some of his own investigating. But there were few photos, only one grainy video of Qrow Branwen fighting off a horde of over four mid-sized Griffin Grimm by a village outside Vale, single-handedly and without breaking a sweat. He’d hardly unlocked his weapon to full length before he was finished. It only went three minutes and twenty seconds.

He had watched it six times.

“What can you tell me about him?” James asked carefully.

Ozpin considered the question and hummed. “Very talented,” he said, no lie. “Exceptional. A good teacher. On a good team. Most of all, I trust him.”

“What was he like? At Beacon?”

“A little bit feral,” Ozpin said fondly.

James considered this. “You never mentioned that.”

“Well, you asked about him enough I figured I’d finally give you something interesting to ponder. You could, after all,” stoically said Ozpin, “meet him yourself.”

“That was the intention.”

“Yes, you could.”

James waited.

“Behind you.”

At the frame of the lift stood a slender man fitting the colour scheme of the shaky, handheld video. Grey and red, in shirt that looked a little thin in the material, tight slacks and hair that looked too messy to be unintentional. There was something deceiving by his very appearance.

James wanted to know.

“A birdy told me we had someone new invited into the gang,” Qrow Branwen said. His voice was rough. He sauntered in with a casual stride unfound in Atlas personnel, but not in a way that suggested Beacon either. Beacon, though, was a bit more freeform than his own parts.

James carefully followed his steps and turned fully to greet him.

“My name is James Ironwood, and I am the Headmaster of Atlas Academy, and General in the Atlesian military. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

James struck out a hand. Perhaps he had watched the video too many times. Now he felt vaguely shameful about it.

Closer, James saw his eyes. Red. Not a blood red, nor a crimson: nothing so penetrating. They were a soft ruby. James spent too long considering it. But it was true. They were, above all, too soft.

Yet he looked so gruff.

Qrow didn’t seem to know what to do with his hand, but he eventually gently shook it. “Right, so we shake hands now or what?”

“Generally, it’s accepted.”

“I’ll allow it this once. So, headmaster, huh? Welcome to the club. Maybe we need a special handshake. Ooh, I know, a catchphrase or something.”

James saw Ozpin out of the corner of his eyes watching them too closely, so James turned his attention back.

“Well, Ozpin,” James said, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

Qrow swung an arm around his shoulder. “That’s it, Jimmy. We need more like you.”

“It’s James.”

“But you could be Jimmy.”

“Hypothetically, yes, but I’m not.”

Ozpin then interjected, “I imagine that protesting has simply made it worse, with Qrow.”

“He can learn no.”

“They keep trying,” Qrow says. “I’ll just call you Jimmy when I’m annoyed with you, then.”

A little bit feral after all.

*

Qrow kept pecking at the window.

The occupant in question was not one he would have turned to. He hardly expected the window to open, but he still yet hoped that Ironwood was a light sleeper and had a hatred for birds. Shoo birdy, shoo!

He kept pecking and pecking and pecking.

He kept watching Ironwood snoozing.

Eventually he awoke, and the mass frame of him came out of the bed in a cute little matched pyjama set. There were even his initials embroidered near the top in neat cursive script.

As the window open Qrow swept in, past a gasp and the cool wind, and then jerked back from his pint-sized form. He left a feather on the floor. It was a gift.

“So, uh,” Qrow started, “I should have probably told you that I can turn into a bird.”

Ironwood rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shut the window gently all things considered.

“It’s my parlour trick.”

“Not your semblance, I imagine.”

“No, it’s—Oz,” Qrow said, as if that explained everything.

“Well, then,” Ironwood said, looking down at Qrow splayed out on the floor, “you require a place to stay?”

“Bad op. Yeah, if that's okay."

“Come on, then,” he said, as if that answered everything, and pulled Qrow up, picked him up bodily, bridal-style. In one movement he gracefully stepped over to the bed and Qrow, too in shock but to do anything except wrap his arms around the firm neck of Ironwood’s, felt himself laid on the bed goodnight.

“Are you injured?”

Bar his thundering heart, Qrow shook his head. “Aura’s low, though.”

“Thirsty or hungry?”

“No.”

Ironwood nodded, pulled the blanket up like he had done it for years, and walked over to the couch. It was a pull-out.

“You gave me the nicer bed.”

“Bad op,” Ironwood repeated, “Aura’s low.” He smiled, and in the dark Qrow nearly didn’t catch it.

*

“Oh, I get it,” Qrow said, hands on his hips, “you carry a guy to bed and then you think you control everything he does?”

Ironwood seemed to frantically split his gaze between Qrow and his paperwork. “No, I just believe it ill-advised to go on your own, out for so long, after the reported increased Grimm activity out beyond Mantle! If it’s so pressing for Ozpin, I don’t see why I can't send Atlas personnel with you. Or call up another Huntsman or Huntress. Or... your team.”

Qrow twitched. “My team.”

“I may have misspoken.”

“My team—one’s dead, the other’s a bandit queen, and Taiyang’s got two little girls and a mid-life crisis. I don’t have a team, Ironwood, I’m the kid waiting around at prom for his date to turn up.”

“You need a team,” Ironwood said, “and I can be on your team. If you let me.” A beat passes. “For the record, I don’t do something for you with the intent that you are indebted to me.”

Qrow wanted to get a pillow and smack the honesty out of him. All that goodwill too. It wasn’t healthy.

“I didn’t know the particulars of your team situation,” Ironwood insufferably continued, “and I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t tell me what to do.”

“I don’t think you’re especially good at being told what to do.”

“I just pretend everything Ozpin tells me to do is something I already wanted,” Qrow said, smirking. “I trick the inner toddler. Learned it with the girls.”

Something softens in Ironwood’s expression, bends sweetly. “Is that so.”

Qrow’s inner sirens go off. “Anyway. Now I have drinking and womanising to do before I go. Bye, Jimmy.”

As he said it, he watched the sweetness turn sad for a second. There it was. The disappointment Qrow had been waiting for. Now he could get on with the cauterising.

*

Qrow didn’t like Ironwood making him an honest man.

It wasn’t even intentional. He was disarming. The first hour of preparing for his trek out, he decided it was a manipulation tactic. The next twenty minutes of packing two flasks he realised he was being stupid. The third hour, it was his semblance starting to finally turn on him.

He’d always wondered when that would happen. Then again, it often felt like that way regardless.

Qrow muttered under his breath and folded up his third shirt to go in the pack.

He gave in and called Ironwood.

“Qrow,” he answered too quickly for a man so important.

“Right now, I’m in an Atlesian club chatting up several attractive, well-spoken women,” Qrow said, “but I wanted to just say, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Did we not already bid goodbye?”

“Yeah, but, I wanted to tell you about all the hot chicks I am currently eyeing up.”

“I thought you were talking to them. I think they wouldn’t appreciate you objectifying them.”

“That’s true. Uh, I made eye contact with a fierce woman who had a really nice smile. Very kind.”

“You go out often, then?”

“Oh, all the time. On downtime in missions too—they don’t call me Scythekeeper for nothin’.”

“No one calls you that.”

“The scythe is a metaphor for my—”

“I’m not letting you finish that sentence,” Ironwood interrupted, “for our own good. Why don’t you finish packing and get a night.”

“I’m not packing! Besides, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“Did you remember to pack a spare scroll?”

Qrow hung up and then he put in the spare scroll.

*

“Did I scare ya?”

James huffed. “You’re no good at scaring people, Qrow.”

“If only,” Qrow sighed, but he didn’t mean it. James knew.

“And even if I worry,” James continued, “I doubt it would change things very much.”

“You just like micromanaging.”

“May I ask a question?”

“You already asked one,” Qrow said, as if the joke was funny the first time.

“What happens,” James said, “when you spend so long in your crow... transformation?”

“You seem wary.”

“I just don’t know the nature.”

Qrow shrugged. “I dunno. This was the longest I’d spent out of necessity. Usually if I’m trying to make mileage, I’ll make pitstops.”

“Would you stay as a crow?”

“I can’t kiss and tell,” Qrow said, but it was a lie.

Ironwood wasn’t sure if that meant he would tell eventually, or another literal option. The evidence wasn’t clear.

So Ironwood opened with, “I’m half-metal,” because it was wont of them to be delicate about things.

“You tellin’ me this so I spill my guts?”

“No,” James said fondly, “I just wanted to tell you.”

Qrow didn’t say anything for a moment. “Two-way, huh,” he muttered, and then he looked carefully at James and he said, “thank you.”

James unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and he felt the heat of being seen. He only went a few buttons down. It was no show. But his hands shook a little.

Just further enough down without being indecent, he tapped his chest where his metal met his flesh.

“I was built a new heart,” he said, hearing the cheery bang of his body. “You can try it.”

Qrow stepped over, one by one, and he bent forward and placed his hand with a care James had not seen before. His rings made a tiny tap against his chest.

“Oh, I feel it,” Qrow said wondrously.

It thudded under his touch, growing warm like it was being regrown again. James felt it skip.

*

James was on call with Qrow.

Qrow insisted on talking through a battle. Through a headset.

“You should really—loosen up,” Qrow said. James tapped his finger on the glass desk as he heard more gunshots. Qrow’s kind. It was a satisfying noise, if nothing else. It felt kind of good in his gut.

“I would just like to remind you, that you are in the middle of a fight instructing me to loosen up. I think there is something deeply wrong with you.”

“I think your problem is—you don’t—you only have a gun!”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with a standard—” Ironwood waited for the yelling to stop. “I don’t see what’s wrong with a standard gun.”

“WHAT, CAN YOU SAY THAT AGAIN,” Qrow shouted, his voice glitchy and ill-rendered over the line.

More loudly, James said, “I said, I don’t see what’s wrong with a standard gun.”

“HOLD ON. I HAVE TO—”

James heard him transform before he got put on hold.

Seven minutes later, Qrow returned with, “But if you had a blade it would be cooler.”

“But is it necessary?”

He seemed out of breath. “No, but then if you run out of bullets then you can use it as a blade. Because it’s a blade then.”

“I can use the butt of my gun.”

“Heh. Butt.”

“This is incredibly unprofessional,” James said.

“You could hang up.”

“I’d just wonder who else you called instead.”

“Aww, I got no one else but you, Jimmy. I get too bored in my head else otherwise.”

“My lunchbreak ends soon.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll have cleared out before then, it’s just gruntwork now.” Someone was yelling. “Well, mostly gruntwork. Hey, kid, what the hell are you doing here? Why do you have—fireworks? Oh, no, you run along.”

“Qrow.”

“It’s just fireworks. Homemade from the looks, so kinda illegal, but not like, murderer illegal. It’s not in my Huntsman job description.”

“Qrow.”

“I think it’s weird there’s a kid hanging around here though. Slimy types. Kid. Hey. Go home. There were bad guys nearby. No. No, I’m not the police, I’m a Huntsman. I’m a cool Huntsman! DON’T CALL ME LAME. KID.”

James watched the hand on the clock turn one o’clock, so he packed up his utensils and prepared to shut off his phone. He had a conference call scheduled.

The sound of fireworks going off was his cue, but then Qrow said, “So, uh, that’s over with, are you going now?”

“I have to, yes.”

“Cool. Alright. See ya then, Jimmy.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

“Qrow.”

“You hang up first.”

“No, you—stop making me join in your games.”

“No, I just don’t like hanging up first, it feels weird.”

So James hung up, because somebody had to put their foot down eventually.

*

Qrow didn’t call. James called.

Qrow didn’t call back.

“Sir,” Winter said, “may I come in?”

“Of course, Winter. How are you?”

“Well, sir. The Vytal festival preparation is coming along smoothly. I predict Penny Polendina will do well in placing, and Team FNKI seems to be... unorthodox, if talented.”

James turned his attention to her. “That’s glowing praise.”

“I ask that you not repeat it, sir.”

“Winter,” James said, “the first thing I do when I see them next will be to say precisely that.”

“Sir!”

“You know many of the students think highly of you.”

“I’m only a specialist.”

“Oh, is it only, now?”

Winter turned back to her pad in hand. “All your personal belongings have been secured. Further, the fleet is ready. We leave at your command.”

“Of course. I just have a few things to attend to.”

“Anything I may assist with, sir?”

James sighed. “I’m just trying to get a hold of somebody, but I’m worried.”

A gleam entered Winter’s eyes, like the first frost giving way. “I’m very good at following things up.”

He smiled. “Something tells me this job wouldn’t suit you. Not for lack of your performance, Winter, but it’s somewhat a delicate matter.”

“Delicate, sir?”

“A friend,” James said carefully, “who nips before he nuzzles.”

“Sir,” Winter said, “that is positively sentimental of you.”

He placed his head on his hand. He did not dream of Qrow. “Quite.”

*

Qrow was still drunk.

“Your fucking fleet,” he said. James sighed. “If you had a brain...”

James picked him up from the Crowbar. “I don’t have a brain,” James said, “keep going, Qrow.”

“Y’... you got a heart, though.” Qrow slipped a hand across his chest. No one else did that. “Beating—beating like a hammer... you could build a house wi’ that.”

“Should I call your nieces?”

“Trust an old drun’ man wi’ ‘em, nah, nah, you carry me, Jimmy, I like it when you carry me,” he said, and it was no lie.

James tucked it away.

He led Qrow to his Beacon quarters, hearing him ramble about everything from stupid Atlesian fleets to underperforming students to the incongruent layout of the school.

“You’re being harsh on the students,” James said. “JNPR’s round demonstrated a sound level of strategy, even if it was not as clearly guided as it could be. There’s true potential there. Besides—that knockout.”

Qrow mumbled something about one-person teams.

“Qrow,” James said, “I tried being on your team.”

“Then you brought your big stinkin’ ships and I was out cold for weeks. I was out for months... I was alone.”

James decided, once they were inside, he was well-permitted to manhandle Qrow’s drunken doddle into a carry.

“Bridal carry, woo,” Qrow managed.

“Is that what they call it?”

“You can have my maidenhead, Jimmy,” he said, and then he closed his eyes and rested against James’ neck.

James thought about it hard.

Qrow was always difficult—but there was no shame in work.

*

James had things to focus on. An embargo. A world in crisis.

If his heart ever tinged with worry, or the seventh night without good sleep got to him, he’d wait by the window and stand with it open. The breeze was refreshing. A shock to the nerves.

Crows flew overhead and he stopped and waited just in case.

*

Before Ruby decided to go on a gap-year trek of the world—or rather, a gap-year trek to save the world—Qrow had wanted to fly to Atlas, with pit stops.

“You’re going somewhere,” Taiyang said.

“No, I was just—going outside,” Qrow said.

“No. You look like Raven when you do that. Where are you going?”

“To see someone.”

“Qrow,” Taiyang looked at him hard, and he looked like a real dad when he did that. “I know Ruby’s planning something, and I need you around. Yang needs me.”

“She could be up to something sweet.”

Taiyang blinked.

“Yeah. Not good at keeping secrets if it were that sweet.”

So Qrow didn't go.

*

Qrow was never good at knowing when to pull away. Raven was the one good at leaving.

He and Raven were both scared of being close for different reasons. Sometimes he wondered if they were so different as to be the same. Sometimes he let himself wish that she’d just come home.

“Do you treat all the girls like this?” Qrow said, being embraced and letting it happen.

Ironwood moved his hand to cup the back of his head. He said, “No,” with a smiling tone.

“Just the pretty ones, then,” Qrow pushed. But he was never good at that either.

“Qrow,” Ironwood said, in his no-bullshit, don’t-fuck-with-me voice, yet oddly soft, “I know you’ve become the hen-mother of children who unthinkingly commit grand theft auto with Atlesian property, but I...” He stopped and sighed. “They all might know, but not the same way.”

Qrow wanted to be like a birdy and fly away. “It wasn’t unthinkingly,” he said presently.

“I know. It was very industrious of them, all things considered.”

Ironwood pulled back with a disarming smile that left Qrow’s arms hanging out loosely on his broad shoulders, creasing his dress shirt. He got a little dirt near the shoulder pads. Qrow went to smooth it out then realised they weren’t shoulder pads: more like Ironwood’s improperly broad shoulders.

“I work out,” Ironwood said, like every general would comment.

“Nah, just—thought I got—dirt on your shoulder,” Qrow tried, “from—travelling. I don’t think I’ve slept in 32 hours, to be frank with you, General.”

“I thought your voice was unusually gruff.”

“That’s just my sexy timbre.”

“Equally still sleep deprivation.”

“But sexy,” Qrow tried again. If he flirted enough then he wouldn’t notice.

Qrow liked James too much. Qrow felt like trusting him when they had to lie.

Even when he came swooping in with the cavalry, knight in his own shining armour from the ground up, Qrow didn’t think him badly intentioned. It was the opposite. He was totally, transparently good, even if not in action, and it frightened the shit out of Qrow.

People with good intentions scared him.

Fortune didn’t favour them.

“Let me show you to your quarters, then,” Ironwood said, “since I see you’ve reached the ceiling of good behaviour.”

“I could go for a few more hours.”

“Of course you could. You just don’t have to.” Then he turned and dropped a hand to the small of Qrow’s back, all chivalry about his movement. Next Qrow would faint in his arms.

“I don’t want to pass out yet,” he said, as if the thought of being carried to his chambers hadn’t passed his thoughts. “We got more to talk about that isn’t maiden business.”

“Isn’t it always maiden business?”

“Not if old Oz isn’t around to eavesdrop. He can’t tell me what I’m allowed to gossip about.”

Ironwood steered him through the labyrinthine blue halls of the school with headmasterly ease and gentle guidance. Qrow would try remembering the way through later.

“We could stay up all night,” Qrow said, head lolling against James’ side, “you can braid my hair and I’ll... paint your nails.”

“I’d like something to match my uniform, if you please.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll ask Ruby. Or Jaune. Jaune’s the blond one.” Qrow slumped in the chair beside the bed he’d sleep in tonight. The room was nice. It had a window big enough for Qrow to come and go, though for now, he’d like to stay.

“I remember who they are, Qrow,” drifted James’ voice from the ensuite, returning bearing a glass of water, gingerly handing it to Qrow. Just like that he seemed to wake up a little more: like all needed to do was acknowledge his thirst and he’d forget about the sleep.

He just wanted and wanted so badly. He watched Ironwood make himself comfortable in the seat beside him, with his long legs stretched out.

“Did you know I nearly died?” Qrow grinned. A beat passed. “You’re two seconds off gripping the bridge of your nose, I see it.”

Ironwood said, for all the world petulantly, “No, I’m not.”

“You are. You so totally are.”

“I’m practising mindfulness. And patience.”

“Sure.”

“But I’m still worried.”

“I’m fine now. I got venomed by one of Salem’s, named Tyrian. He was a bit of a fanatic.”

Qrow’s catalogue of Ironwood expressions didn’t have room for the indecipherable look that passed over his face. Maybe he had seen it once or twice and it passed through all the bloat in his memory.

He tried to make sure to remember it this time.

“I would like to excitedly tell you about my happenings,” James said, and Qrow just watched him talk because he could. Nobody could stop him looking right then. “Other than calamity and disaster. I helped Ms. Schnee at the charity ball, though.”

“Heard about that. Sounded epic, if you ask me.”

Ironwood wryly glanced at him. “I’m always asking.”

“Yeah, everybody wants my opinion.”

“I think,” he started, and took a swallow, “I need it.”

“Alright. What on?”

“I would just like you around,” he said, “I would like you to stay here, because I am tired of loss. I know I’ve done what I should for the kingdoms. But doing what you should and doing what you want are two different things.” James seemed to move for a minute as if to touch Qrow again, to see if he was still there.

So Qrow said, “I’m here, Jimmy.”

“You made me panic when you called me General. I wondered if you were an intruder.”

“Well, hell, you really are paranoid,” he said, “seems like you need a little insubordination to fix you right up.”

James covered his face as if in embarrassment.

“Jeez. Tell everyone that Ironwood secretly wants everybody to break rank and hold hands ‘cause he’s lonely.”

“Not everybody. Just you.”

Qrow thinks about holding hands the rest of the night.

*

The kids were getting their clothes and accoutrements done up. Qrow had too much fun watching Nora braid Ren’s hair. She had quick hands.

It made him happy when things reminded him of Summer and his team that didn’t make him want to dunk his head in a sink of water.

They had their shit together in the right ways.

James seemed to appear from nowhere, and even through exhaustion and more than weeks-old growth of a beard, he had a light in his eye Qrow hadn’t seen for a while. His hair looked neatly brushed, and his clothes ironed straight.

“You dressing up too, Jimmy?”

Ironwood seemed to self-consciously inspect himself, and he looked up and said, “No harm in a general dressing respectably.”

“Yeah, but even I noticed.”

He averted his eyes and met Qrow’s gaze again. “I think your scythe needs tuning.”

“It’s fine! It doesn’t need fixing,” Qrow said.

“Not fixing. Just a polish and a sharpen. It won’t get hurt.”

“I’ll do it.” Qrow searched for a nice-looking whetstone.

“New clothes?”

“James.”

“Did you just call me James?”

“What, you prefer Jimmy?”

“No,” James said fondly, “I simply like it.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t be nice to me and expect that to get me into new clothes.”

“Alright.” James defensively raised his hands. “At least let me darn the holes.”

“Not the cape.”

“Feral,” James muttered under his breath.

Ruby looked up from pulling apart her very own scythe. “Hey Qrow, you getting new clothes for a date, huh?”

“Uncle Qrow doesn’t go on dates, Ruby,” he said, and he checked James’ reaction and saw an eyebrow raise.

“Ooh, do I hear love-life gossiping?” Nora said, tying off Ren’s braid. “Is somebody in love?”

“No one’s in love!” Qrow said. James kept looking at him.

“First person to deny it is in love!”

“I’m not in love! I’m not playing any games either.”

The other eyebrow raised. Qrow gauged his reaction. Qrow was playing it cool. Qrow had his shit together now. He went through shakes and crash-landed in Atlas, sure, but he got it together, and he didn’t even go to jail, and neither did the kids.

“Some people are in love,” Nora said, ignoring his second reply, “lots of people are in love. Oh, man, love is in the air! I mean, you know, even in dark, damp places, love endures, when you’re lonely and afraid you just think of it! And it’s all better! Isn’t that amazing! It’s like a free semblance!”

“Nora, how does my braid look?” Ren started to turn.

“Oh, I’ve never done a better job. Now you can whack people with it.”

Jaune giggled. “Hair whip!”

Qrow crossed his arms as James guided him away from the conversation, and sat with him as he worked his weapon back to looking pretty.

*

“You should be proud of them,” James said, as they watched the Aces head off with team RWBY.

“Yeah, they get by without me, though,” Qrow said, and chuckled. “I’m the old guy dragging them behind.”

James watched him carefully.

“I stopped drinking,” Qrow said, “if you noticed.”

“I did. No flask.”

“Yeah. Things still suck, though.”

“It might not make it better,” James said, and placed a hand on the middle of Qrow’s back. “But it certainly makes things worse. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

“Oh, no, don’t start that. Not the rampant niceness again.”

“I wasn’t aware it was so disturbing,” he said, even though he was.

“Yeah, well.”

“So how much do they know?”

“Well,” Qrow said, “all the necessary details. My semblance, too.”

“You kept that?”

Qrow half-smiled and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Don’t need confirmation I’m bad to have around, do they? But it came up.”

James laughed. It rattled against Qrow’s back and up his spine. He hadn’t heard it in so long that he had nearly forgot how it felt through touch.

“Why are you laughing?” Qrow said. “Something funny?”

James said, “I always thought you were my good luck charm.”

“Don’t toy with me, Jimmy.”

He insisted. “Sometimes I’d look overheard to see crows.”

“So?”

“Seemed like something good always happened when I did. Especially when you turned up.”

Qrow was a crier. He was a hide in the corner and cry type, but he was a crier nonetheless. So he turned away and crossed his arms.

“I need to tell you something,” Qrow said.

*

“Salem’s love for Ozma is the original sin,” Qrow said, and then immediately rolled his eyes. “Like anybody’s gonna be able to love again after that.”

James met his gaze steadily. “I think there are a few on the team that would challenge that.”

Qrow paced back and forth in his quarters and waited for the accusations of distrust. Of subterfuge. Qrow waited and waited.

So he kept talking, “Their curse literally was being in love. It left us with this mess. It’s what Ozpin kept from us.”

James nods. “Something that took me time to learn,” he said, “Is that sometimes keeping the truth is complicated. Sometimes it’s worth not telling.”

“How could you of all people say that?”

“I’ve tried to be honest with the people who need to know,” James said, “I never said I was perfect. Besides.”

“Besides?”

“I’ll trade you,” James said, and relaxed back in his chair, but he looked like a man going to the gallows. “My semblance is sensing when somebody is lying.”

“Ah, fuck.”

“I hope you don’t swear around the students like that.”

“They can cover their ears. So.” Qrow swallowed. “You knew.”

“That Ruby lied? Yes.”

“And?”

James smiled. He looked benign. “I have to earn their trust. Your trust. I can’t do this without you.”

“Me?” Qrow chuckles. “Pretty sure I’ll mess up your operation just by standing near it.”

“Qrow. I know when you’re lying.”

Qrow stopped and turned his back to James. He considered swooping out the window in bird-form and taking a shit on an Atlas comm tower, but that felt petty. Then he considered every interaction with James he’s ever had.

Slowly he turned around. “I never said anything that incriminating, did I?”

“The womanising.”

“Well, y’know. Appearances.”

“And yet,” James said, “you’ve rarely lied much about what mattered.”

“Have I?”

“I trust you. Completely.”

Qrow wondered where his brain had gone. It had seemed to have packed its bags and left.

“The fact that you came and told me about this is proof I did the right thing by waiting. And the more information we can share about Salem, the better. If she can’t be destroyed, then at least we’ll set communications with the countries back up. Qrow, are you all right?”

“I’m afraid,” Qrow said, “I just needed to rest a minute.” He held tightly onto the bedframe.

“Qrow?”

“You said—”

“I trust you.”

“Yeah, that. Hold on.”

James got up and crossed over to where he was taking deep breaths. A hand settled on the small of his back.

“The worst part is,” Qrow got out, “that I trust you, too.”

“Whatever shall we do.” James rubbed his back.

“I thought it was all a bit paranoid. Especially after the fanfare at Beacon.”

“Ozpin was dead. Communications were down. Circumstances were not... ideal.”

“That’s a word for it.”

“So,” James said, “are we on a team together?”

“I think we were the whole time. I just had to get the lone wolf thing out of my system.”

James goes for the hug again. This time he has one hand on the small of Qrow’s back and one around his neck, and so Qrow burrows his face in because he can.

“I didn’t see the full story of the lamp,” James said, “but I don’t think love was Salem’s problem.”

“Sure seems that way.”

“The part that mattered was when they left the castle,” he said, “I liked that part. You’re good at telling stories.”

“James.”

“You know, once,” he kept going, “my suggestion would be for Ozma and Salem to kiss and make up. That would fix everything.” James stepped back and pulled off his gloves, setting them aside on the bedside table.

“Romantic in your youth?”

“Always.”

Qrow, for once in his life, was actually a sly, successful flirt, and so he said, “Then why don’t we kiss and make up, Jimmy?”

James, sure-footed, came up and gazed into Qrow’s eyes as he gripped his jaw, fierce and soft at once. They touched flesh to metal and metal to flesh. Qrow swallowed and pushed himself forward, and kissed James full on the mouth. His beard was warm. Qrow had never kissed like that before: full of longing and truth and finally, it had come along.

Qrow didn’t stop because he could breathe through his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading. Please let me know what you thought, but most of all, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The summary of this fic could have alternatively been:
> 
> Ironwood: *sees Qrow* Well. I must smother him in affection forever.  
Qrow: *is hold*


End file.
